Warm
by Milk and Glass
Summary: Izzie is dying and the group is rallying around her for her last days. As she prepares to go under the knife in a last-ditch effort to save her life, Addison Montgomery comes back to visit her dying ex-girlfriend.
1. Chapter 1

Surgeons don't show weakness. It's cardinal rule number one. When you're trusted to save a life, and to do it correctly, showing weakness in yourself means admitting that maybe you're not God, and it doesn't always go right, and that you can fail. It's admitting you're human. And surgeons can get sick.

Izzie sat on her diagnosis for two days before telling Cristina Yang. Metastatic melanoma – it seems like a myth, or something you only hear about when you're reading a medical textbook. Sure, she heard the warnings, the strictures about using sunscreen and watching moles and the whole thing. It never stopped her from tanning before a vacation or getting the occasional sunburn.

Now, she curses herself for being stupid.

There are five stages of grief, according to the psychologists. The first, denial, passed quickly. Izzie is a doctor and she isn't stupid. If the scans say that she's got tumours growing in her body, spreading quickly, then she knows that the diagnosis is probably true. She had a whole team of interns working on this – some from top medical schools. They looked, and looked again. The illness is real. And she knows it innately.

The second stage is anger, but Izzie's not angry at the universe. She's angry at Denny for not being able to tell her this when he was here. Partly, though, she knows that it wasn't his job to tell her anyway. The third stage, bargaining, didn't even register on her radar. There's no point in bargaining with a God who's already made up His mind.

No, the stage that Izzie is stuck in is the fourth stage: depression. She's having a hard time believing that it's even worth it to try any treatment. And her four friends – the friends that work hard every day alongside her to save patients from unimaginable nightmares – they can't fathom someone who wouldn't want to give it a shot. Even if the shot only has a five percent chance of hitting the target.

Five percent. It could be point five percent as far as Izzie's concerned. Those odds aren't good enough for her.

Now, she lies in a hospital bed, watching Alex snap the buttons on her gown's right sleeve; watching Cristina measure her pulse by the second hand on her Fossil watch; watching Meredith smooth the covers over her legs and rub her feet, and she still feels the same.

She doesn't want to leave it – and she doesn't want to give up.

But five percent is so slim. And what's the point of trying when she only has these precious moments left?

//~//

Sleep is intermittent. She didn't realize how hard it was to sleep in a hospital; that's probably because she's never had to do it outside of an on-call room before. People like Owen Hunt and Derek Shepherd can fall asleep in a moment on a bed beside their patients' rooms – others, like Meredith, have to be in a dark room, wrapped in blankets, to even reach a dream-like state. There's been many times Izzie's come into an on-call room to collapse, only to find Meredith awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep because of the strange bed or the slight noise from the radiator.

This is the problem – this, right here: Life has been easy for Izzie Stevens. She doesn't know what it's like to have it hard. Despite her upbringing, she's pushed through – she's gotten the prize. She got scholarships to medical school. She modeled to pay the rest. She took care of her mother, and her grandmother, for years, and all she ever felt was a sense of pride and security. She had this. She had life. It did not have her.

She moves her head on the pillow, blonde hair spilling over the edge of the white case, watches George begin to take blood from her arm.

"What's that for?"

"Keep an eye on your counts," he replies. It's probably been the hardest on him. Izzie is his best friend. He still hasn't been able to look her in the eye without tearing up, and although she knows he's trying to protect her feelings, this is what she wants to avoid. She leans down to catch his eye, and he looks at her from honest, teary blue eyes for a moment before averting his eyes again to watch the blood fill the syringe.

Alex holds her hand, but he won't look at her either. Finally, she just breaks the silence in the room.

"I'm still the same! I'm still me!" Her voice is loud in the quiet, and four heads shoot up in surprise. Izzie blinks, feeling tears heavy behind her eyes, and clears her throat, speaking more quietly.

"You think that I'm someone sick, now."

Meredith shakes her head. "Iz, that's not true."

"No, it's true," Alex says, shooting Meredith a look. "It's true."

Izzie finally looks at him. "This is why I didn't tell any of you."

"You told Cristina," says Alex, his voice low. "You told Yang."

Cristina shakes her head. "Leave me out of this, Alex."

"No, I want to know! Why could you tell Yang and not me, Iz?" Alex is trying to keep his voice down, but there's a tremble behind the calm words, and Izzie turns her head away from Alex, just as Cristina says, "Enough."

"I want to be by myself," Izzie whispers, and they nod.

"Okay, Iz."

When they leave, she stares at her hands – her surgeon's hands, so steady and smooth, and notice their paleness; the tape of the IV criss-crossing over the blue veins.

And for the first time since the diagnosis, Izzie begins to cry.

//~//

Addison Montgomery is pretty happy with her life. There's nothing wrong with having a successful practice in L.A. And if you asked her, she'd say that she made the right decision to come to Oceanside Wellness.

She did, in many ways. She has her share of men and she has a perma-tan. Her hair is short and shining; her legs are always bare and you can wear a tank top in January. What's not to like about this city?

She rarely thinks of Seattle Grace anymore, save for when she gets a brief email from Richard or a phone call from the new neonatal surgeon, asking for a second opinion or another take on an existing patient. It works for her. She left for a reason – and she doesn't regret it.

Except at night, when it never rains, or when it does rain, and never stops. She thinks about a blonde girl who always has a smile. And then life hurts a little and so does her heart.

The phone rings on her desk, this morning, and the area code is from Seattle, but it's not the hospital. Nevertheless, she picks it up.

"Addison Montgomery."

"Dr. Montgomery?" The voice is timid, soft, but unmistakeable.

"Meredith Grey." Addison doesn't even ask the question, and Meredith's voice grows even softer.

"Sorry to bother you."

"It's fine, Grey. Why are you calling me?"

"Well, we thought you should know. Izzie's not doing very well."

There's a silence and Addison's brow becomes furrowed. "What do you mean, not doing very well? Emotionally?"

"That's not what I mean." There's a sigh on the other end of the phone, and when Meredith speaks again, her voice sounds foggy.

"She has metastatic melanoma, stage four. Tumours on her brain, her liver and her skin."

Another silence. Then, "What?"

"She's got cancer, Addison. I'm sorry to call you, but I think you should come out. Or talk to her at least. She's got a five percent chance of survival. Current prognosis is that she's got maybe a few months to live."

Addison's hand shakes a little on the phone; she grips it harder, to stop the shaking, and manages to ask, in a steady voice, "When did she find out?"

"About a week ago. We found out yesterday. She's scheduled for surgery as soon as Derek comes back to work."

"Wait, why is Derek out of work? What the hell is going on?" Addison rubs a tired hand across her forehead and sighs. "I probably don't want to know, do I?"

Meredith's voice is stronger now. "We can fill you in when you show up. Addison – I know what happened between you. I get that this could be hard. But she's dying, for all intents and purposes. She doesn't have a long time."

"Yeah. I get that." Addison closes her eyes; imagines the blonde and her smile, and despite herself, her eyes tear. "God, I'm sorry, Meredith."

"I'm sorry, too." Meredith's voice is soft. "Will you come?"

Addison sits back in her desk. "Yeah. I'll come."

//~//

Izzie lies on her side. It's where she's most comfortable; it's where the nausea abates a bit. She pretty much has constant nausea, now; she's not sure if it's because she's been diagnosed with cancer or if it's because it's always been there, and she's never slowed down enough to notice it.

It feels strange to be the patient instead of the doctor. It's especially strange because she feels fine, other than the slight pain and nausea, and she doesn't need help to get to the bathroom or eat or anything. Nearly always, one of the residents sits with her. Cristina normally studies something, or just holds Izzie's hand, staring off into space. Izzie maybe appreciates her the most; she doesn't feel the need to say anything inane. Although, to be honest, all the residents are good at keeping away from the inanity. It's one of the perks of working in the medical field. There are no lies. There's no stupid, ignorant comfort.

Meredith wants to talk, but Izzie hasn't let her, so far. Of the four, she's worried most about Meredith – not because they're close, but because Mer isn't known for her coping skills. She's been through a lot and she hasn't handled it well, but there's something horrible in watching someone die of a horrible disease – and that someone is the same age as you are. Izzie's lived in Meredith's house for a year and a half and she's slept with the woman when Derek jerked her around, or she was upset about her mother, or some other crisis happened. She knows that Meredith sniffles, even in her sleep, and that she'll wake up with tear tracks still on her cheeks. She knows that Meredith will cry for months before she'll admit it.

George smiles through the pain. He smiles into her face and his eyes rest lovingly on her hair, or her cheekbones, and very rarely, in her eyes. He strokes her hair. He rubs her shoulders. George works by touch – and he seems to be memorizing Izzie, one touch at a time. He's the only one she's let hug her – because she knows that it's such a part of him, to be tied to someone by the touch of their skin.

He's so warm. It makes it hard to think that she won't be, in months' time.

She's been avoiding Alex because she doesn't know what to say. She loves him and she doesn't; she wants him to finally have a woman who won't run out on him in some way. He's so damaged inside and she isn't helping him, so she refuses to engage. What she doesn't realize is that she's making it worse for him.

He comes every day, anyway. He holds onto her hand; he runs his lips over the back of it; he strokes her hair as she lies on her side, facing away from him, and he cries, which makes it about ten times harder.

She sometimes cries, too.

It's such a limbo, and this is why most surgeons hate to appear weak.

Because this is a surgeon's hell – to be on the other side of the knife.


	2. Chapter 2

It's not every day you get a chance to watch the sunrise. In fact, they say that ten thousand mornings is all a human being really gets in their lives. Izzie Stevens never thought about that fact, until now.

She watches the sun rise every single morning, because there's nothing else to do. But part of her makes sure she's awake to watch the light trace its way across her covers, lighting her IV bags and tubes, because pretty soon, her mornings are going to end. It's almost instinctive, now. And it's the only time she smiles – smiles to watch the sun rise and peek through the dirty hospital window.

Every night, she settles into her normal position – on her side, curled like a baby under her blankets. She always had trouble keeping the blankets on the bed, in fact, because they twist around her body, burying her in a warm little cocoon. Alex used to complain about that – and if she wants to think back farther, so did Addison.

It's so strange to think of her life ending before theirs. That they really are the past, in so many ways, because there's no future to look forward to. Maybe that's the hardest, to know that she's moving on in a direction no one should have to move onto until they're old and grey.

However, these thoughts, though they never leave her mind, get pushed to the back when she watches the sun rise above the bank of clouds and the birds fly close to her window pane. She can almost feel the breeze against her face.

It, in fact, is her dying wish – to feel the wind one last time before she can never feel it again.

//~//

Addison occasionally hates the sunrise, because she hates to sleep with the curtains closed and it always gets her, right in the eyes. But even she, cynical as hell in the mornings, can't deny the beauty of the pure light above the ocean. She counts herself lucky to live in a place where you can waltz out the door at six A.M. and feel the soft wind beginning to stir the sand. The waves are even calmer at this time of day; they lap gently at the shore instead of crashing wildly like they do at night.

There are always the morning people, out at the same time as she is, probably worshiping the light in the same way. It harkens back to a time where people only worshiped light; recognized how closely it really is tied to our lives, the seasons passing without our knowledge, until it's too late.

She knows she has to go to Seattle. That much is always in the back of her mind.

It's the going that's hard. She spoke to Naomi last night on the terrace, watching the stars dance next to silver-lined clouds, and voiced her concerns.

"I'm a doctor, Nae – this is ridiculous. But the fact is, I'm just afraid to see her like this. I don't want to see her like this."

Naomi had sipped her Shiraz, watching the pieces of the moon get tossed on the ocean before she answered.

"The fact is, Addie, it's stopped being about you. It's about her, now. If you say she only has a five percent chance to live, then your job is to ensure that you see her before she inevitably will pass away."

Addison had moved in her chair, studying her wine glass, before she raised tear-filled eyes to Naomi.

"Do I want to be there when she does?"

"Do you love her still?"

It's a good question. Maybe it's hard to imagine being at her bedside because when she left, Izzie was a golden-haired, lively, twenty-nine-year-old woman with her life ahead of her. It's so easy to leave those who can take care of themselves. Whatever Izzie was, she was never vulnerable. And yes, maybe, in her heart, the love is still there. Whatever love there was between them at the end is still there.

"Yes," answered Addison.

"Then, you have your answer."

"It's not so cut and dry, Nae." Addison's voice is flat and grating, the way it gets when she's annoyed, and Naomi winces.

"I'm not trying to make it cut and dry. I know how hard this is for you. You've both moved on. But sweetie, she's not going to be around forever. You can't choose to go back later. You have this window; you promised to go. So, in theory, you should be on a plane right now."

It's true. Addison rose, taking her wine glass and Naomi's into her hand, listening to the clear bell-like clinking as she headed towards the door.

"I don't want it to be hard. For either of us."

Naomi had looked sad. "Oh, Addie. Death is never going to be easy."

And like always, she was right.

//~//

Izzie's getting used to having no one in the room for hours at a time. What her friends don't realize is that it's not helping. Bailey finally screamed at all of them after seeing Izzie crying into her newly-knitted scarf.

"She is dying, you morons! DYING! Do you realize what that means? You can't just waltz in whenever you like. She doesn't have a lot of time."

"She might not be dying," said George, through white lips. "If the surgery goes well –"

"If the surgery goes well, and God willing it does, then she will need you more than ever, O'Malley." Bailey's voice had trailed off and her face softened. "I know it's hard to see her this way. It's going to get worse. She's going to have chemo and be sick all the time. And then, you're not going to want to sit in her room, or hold her hand, or smile at her, because it'll be hard to look at her.

"But guess what? That's your job as her friends. You need to prove to her that you can be there for her now, now that it's not bad, as opposed to later, when it will be very bad. Do you understand?"

Meredith was the only one who seemed to have the lecture sink in. So, it's Meredith that sits in Izzie's room now, knitting along with her.

Izzie smiles wanly. "It's been a long time since I've seen you knit," she mentions, picking up a dropped stitch and counting under her breath.

"Well, I thought I'd keep you company," Meredith replies comfortably, more comfortably than she feels. They knit in silence for a few moments, and then Meredith speaks again.

"I called Addison."

Izzie's hands still on her needles. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," she says politely, much more politely than Meredith is ever used to hearing with Izzie. She repeats herself.

"I said, I called Addison."

Another silence. Then, "Why?"

"Because I think she should know what's going on." Meredith's voice is no-nonsense, but Izzie doesn't back down.

"Why should she know what's happening to me? Tell me, Meredith, if you had gone across the damn country and never bothered to call, do you think you'd care to know if your ex-girlfriend has cancer?"

Meredith raises her eyes to Izzie. "Yes, I would care to know."

Izzie backs off for a moment, staring in frustration at her knitting, and then shakes her head as nausea threatens to overwhelm her. Meredith catches sight of Izzie's green face and grabs an emesis basin.

"Thanks," Izzie manages to gasp between spasms. Meredith quietly rubs her back until she finishes.

"When did this start?" she asks, placing the emesis basin aside and wiping Izzie's mouth for her.

Izzie takes a small sip of water before answering. "It comes and goes. Sometimes the nausea gets to be a little too much."

Meredith doesn't say anything until Izzie begins to cry. "Oh, Iz," she says, coming over to stroke Izzie's blonde hair and hug her friend.

"I just . . . it's a shock, you know? Rallying the troops because I'm dying – I just never thought it would have to happen to me."

"I know," Meredith murmurs into Izzie's hair. "I know."

//~//

The first thing Addison does is call Meredith Grey when she gets off the plane.

"Grey, it's Addison. I've landed and I'm coming to the hospital now."

Meredith's soft voice echoes in Addison's ear as the redhead makes her way down the airport sidewalk, dragging an expensive designer suitcase behind her.

"I don't know if tonight is the best time, Addison."

"Why not?" Addison snaps, realizing that she's sounding a little too impatient, and she tries to soften her voice. "I mean, is she not feeling well?"

"Well, she was just told the news this afternoon. I think maybe tomorrow morning."

"Did you ask her?"

"No, but she isn't feeling great today. A bit of vomiting, and she looks tired." Meredith's voice is purely clinical, and Addison smiles inwardly at how much the former intern sounds like a full-fledged doctor.

"Well, I'm going to get settled in. Let her know, and see if she's up for it." It's not a question, and Meredith's voice is slightly tart as she answers.

"Fine. Talk to you later."

As Addison finishes checking in at the hotel, her phone rings again. It's Meredith.

"Izzie says fine, she's ready to see you."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Yep." Meredith hangs up the phone without another word and Addison mentally prepares herself to see her ex-girlfriend.

In situations like this, what do you say? What do you say to the person who you left to find a better life? None of it was Izzie's fault, long ago, but it's been more than a year and Addison knows they've both moved on. From occasional phone calls from Mark Sloan, she knows that Izzie and Alex have been together for at least the past three months.

The familiar front doors of the hospital instill a sense of almost-peace in Addison as she pushes them open. It's an action she's done many times before, and she's never noticed how heavy the doors can be. Maybe it's just because she doesn't really want to be here.

Before she reaches the oncology wing, she checks her appearance in one of the bathroom mirrors and is shocked to see a white face, large, scared blue eyes, and mussed red hair. The last thing she wants to appear is less than professional, but even thinking of Izzie this ways brings unexpected tears to her eyes.

Meredith is waiting for her at the door of Izzie's room. "Don't stay long," she says, her eyes not quite meeting Addison's. "She's tired tonight."

"Thanks, Meredith," Addie replies, and her voice comes out as soft, modulated – grateful, even. Meredith's face softens, and she puts a hand on Addison's arm.

"Thanks for coming."

The room is darkened, except for the light above the bed. The curtains are wide open, but all that can be seen is a black square. However, Addison knows the view from these rooms – when the lights are out, the stars do shine. She smiles a little, thinking of her own preference for uncurtained windows at night.

Izzie's eyes are closed; her hands folded quietly on her lap. She appears to be breathing softly. Addison notices the emesis basin close to her bedside; she also notices the twin bags of IV fluid, snaking their way down into Izzie's capable surgeon's hands.

As Addison comes to the side of the bed, Izzie's eyes open at the so-familiar sound of designer heels on the floor. Her eyes turn to Addison's blue eyes, and like a flower blooming, she suddenly smiles.

"So, you made it."

Addison's eyes are filled with tears. She grabs Izzie's hand, squeezing it tightly, unable to say anything.

Izzie doesn't say anything, either – she simply touches a tear that drops from Addison's eyes onto her blanket.

When the two gazes meet, Izzie has tears, too.

"Thank you for coming, Addie."


	3. Chapter 3

Izzie's eyes are closed, but her ears are not. She can hear everything that goes on – in the hallway, in the corners of her room, and outside her window. She's been blessed with excellent hearing, and it comes in handy when there are two doctors conferring outside her door about the best time to start the surgery. It comes in even handier when the two doctors who are arguing are Addison and Derek.

Derek's going to perform the surgery. Before, Izzie was against the idea. Derek was broken – he was upset, he was full of doubt and uncertainty. He hacked open a woman's skull and took out half of her brain. If Izzie has perpetual optimism, it was dimmed a bit by doubt in Derek's skills. But Meredith, who takes the time to sit in Izzie's room for at least an hour every morning (and Izzie's stopped caring that it's four in the morning when Meredith has time to sit in her room), told Izzie that it should be okay.

"Yeah, he was, he really was messed up. I've literally never seen him like that. That's my department, you know?" Meredith crossed her legs, clad in blue scrubs that Izzie has access to but can't bring herself to look at or put on anymore.

"Mer – I'm not meaning to be insulting, here – but this is my head. I sort of need it, even if I am going to kick the bucket in a few months, you know?" Izzie said flippantly, but her face changed from cheeky to contrite when Meredith winced. "Sorry."

"Hey, joke about death all you want – God knows I do," Meredith had replied, but her eyes were guarded.

Izzie shook her head, trying to get rid of the feeling of foreboding that had settled over the room. "Anyway, Mer, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, Iz. He's fine. He's been practicing day and night with a fake brain. He'll be good. You've scrubbed in on his surgeries; you know he's not someone to mess it up on purpose."

Izzie had crossed her legs – one ankle over the other, watching her toes peek out from under the light blanket, and ran the satin fringe on the wool through her fingers.

"If you say he's ready, I trust you."

Meredith had gotten up then, putting her arms around Izzie, leaning her conditioner-scented head against Izzie's shoulder. "I promise you."

"Okay."

Addison, however, doesn't seem to be as trusting as Izzie has come to be.

"Derek, do you think that I haven't heard the rumours? They're saying that you lost it. You lost your touch and although I find it hard to believe, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Derek runs a hand through his hair, and Izzie notices that the weeks-old scrub on his face is gone, leaving a clean-shaven, strong jaw and a sensitive mouth.

"I can't promise anything, Addie."

"That's bullshit. You've always been able to promise."

"Well, I can't. I can't because if I do, it's not just someone's family that I don't know upset and distraught. That's bad enough, but if I do, if I promise that Izzie will be fine, then I have an entire hospital, four extremely nervous, anxious, caring residents who believe I'm God, and my ex-wife to answer to. Do you get it? Do you get why I'm not promising?"

Izzie keeps her eyes closed, but she can see Addison's expression on the black of her closed eyelids, as clearly as if she was staring right at the woman herself.

"Derek, you need to." Addison's voice is lower, now, but Izzie can hear the heartbreak.

Through the window, Derek raises a hand, touches Addie's face.

"Addie, she's moved on."

"I know that."

"I don't think you do."

"What do you want me to say, Derek? I left my practice in L.A. to come up here, and no one will look at me, and you won't tell me that it's going to be all right. She's dying and you won't tell me that you're going to do your best to save her."

"No, I said I wouldn't promise you I could."

Although Izzie can't see Addison, she can hear her. The designer heel's sharp clack on the floor causes Izzie to smile in spite of herself.

"Derek. Please."

"Addie, if you're here to see Izzie, maybe you'd better see her, instead of standing here arguing with me." His voice drops, and Izzie has to struggle to hear him. "I'm not that person, Addie. I can't tell you it's going to be okay. I don't know if it's going to be okay."

"Is this the part where you tell me to value every moment and all that crap?" Addison's voice is foggy, but there's a hint of humour in it.

"No. I'm not that cheesy."

They laugh, and Izzie turns onto her side, fighting the rising nausea. She's due for chemo after her surgery tonight, but the cancer on her liver is already causing stomach problems. She knows that if she breathes carefully, she can sometimes make it go away, but this isn't going to be one of those times. Her eyes fly open and she grabs for her emesis basin just as Addison walks in.

"Oh, Izzie." Addison is over to her side like a flash, holding the basin under her chin. Izzie throws up copiously and with force, and wants to close her eyes and will herself out of this situation.

"Thanks," she whispers when she's finished. Addison's cool hand on the back of her neck makes her feel better. A sip of water also helps. When she opens her teary eyes (damn this tearing up when she vomits!), Addison's sympathetic blue eyes lock with hers.

"Feel better?"

"Not really." Izzie dismisses the question with a wave of her hand. "Comes with the territory."

Addison sits down beside the bed. "How's it going today?"

"Look, Addison. Before we get into the do-you-remembers, let's make one thing clear. You're not my doctor. I'm not your patient. You don't get to assess me and you don't get to keep track of my symptoms. I have three doctors who do that, your ex-husband being one of them."

Addison's face changes when she realizes that Izzie probably heard everything. "Okay," she says, her voice uncertain.

Izzie pushes on. "You left – you left! And I'm really happy to see you. Don't get me wrong, but you left and you shouldn't think that you have a right to anything, now. I'm sorry," her voice drops to a whisper, "but you don't have a right to know. Or to hope."

Addison's face crumples a little bit, but her voice stays steady. "I'm not looking for anything out of this."

"Really?" Izzie shifts in bed, grabs for the emesis basin again, but pushes it away as the feeling of nausea passes again. "Then why did you come? To feel sorry for me?"

"To say goodbye?" Addison's voice is barely audible, and Izzie feels the implication like a shot through her heart. She answers in the same tone, the same volume.

"So you think I'm going to die, then?"

"I don't know. You just told me not to hope."

In answer, Izzie turns onto her side, indicating this interview is over. "Yeah. Don't hope. Chances are, we'll all be wrong."

//~//

Alex Karev sits in the cafeteria, staring at a medical textbook spread out across the cheap laminated MDF of the table, but he's not reading it. Instead, he's staring at his lap, lost in thought.

Addison Montgomery arrived last night. The rumour went around the hospital that Izzie was so happy to see her, she cried. It's such a change from the way Izzie treats him, now. When he visits, she pastes on a smile. If she has to throw up, she lunges for the toilet – never letting him see her vomit. She refuses his help with anything. She refuses to talk about anything – instead, she asks him questions. Makes him talk.

He knows why she's doing it, but he wants to scream whenever he sees the wan smile on her face. He doesn't want her to be happy-joy-joy towards him. He wants her to be honest. He loves her for her honesty. And he realizes, for the first time, that honesty can hurt. Because now she thinks he can't handle this. And he can – he can handle much more than this.

Addison comes into the cafeteria and makes a beeline for the coffee machine. He knows by heart what she drinks – double espresso, extra strong, no milk, three sugars. It's a kick that's gotten her through many a thirty-six hour day, although he can't imagine being that high on caffeine. If he'd seen her in L.A., he would have realized that she no longer drinks a lot of coffee, anymore. When she does, it's a lighter roast, drunk with milk and very little sugar.

She's back to her old habits as soon as she landed in the Seattle airport.

She seems to debate, standing there, whether or not she should come over. He doesn't care either way, but instead of averting his eyes, he raises them to stare directly into hers. She makes her decision and slides into a chair across the table from him.

"Studying for a surgery?"

"No." Alex's voice is dull, unwelcoming, but she's used to it from him and pushes on.

"Just a bit of light reading, then?"

"Look, Addison. I'm not in the mood for small talk, okay?"

The silence falls like a ton of bricks; it's then he sees the tears on her cheeks.

"Hey. Don't take it so personally."

"I'm not," she sniffles, and fumbles in her purse for a Kleenex. "Did you know that she thinks she's going to die?"

He doesn't have to ask who she's talking about. "She might. In fact, she probably will," he finishes harshly.

Her face crumples, her mouth twisting in an ugly manner, and he wants to take it back. "Addison. You know the stats as well as I do. It was caught too late."

"Why the hell does everyone keep treating her like a terminal case? She's young! She has a chance to get through this! Derek –"

"Derek better do his job correctly or he'll have me to contend with," Alex growls, and she raises her eyes to his. "You didn't see him. He fucked up a pregnant woman, Addison. He gouged out half her brain. I was there for the entire thing."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. It wasn't pretty. And he'd better not do the same to my girlfriend."

She blinks at the word and he can't help pushing it home a bit. "I want to marry her. When this is over. I want to marry her."

"Well . . . congratulations?"

"It's not a given, yet."

"No."

"Look, why are you here? She's moved on, Addison. She doesn't cry over you anymore. You weren't there. I picked up the pieces after you left."

She doesn't answer, and he suddenly bangs the table. "Seriously! Why are you back? Why are you making her life a living hell when she's going to fight the hardest fight of her life?"

Addison raises her luminous blue eyes to Alex and he remembers, suddenly, why he was so attracted to her back then.

"Because if I didn't come, I'd never forgive myself for not being there if she died. It wasn't an easy decision. I've moved on, too."

"Not enough," he rasps harshly, just as his pager goes off.

He lifts it, looks at the number. "They're going to prep her for surgery. I've got to go." He rises, then looks at her.

"Listen, I'm not trying to be mean. But she needs to be strong, not stressed. Maybe you should just go home."

With that, he leaves, and Addison drops her head onto her arms.

Maybe Alex is right.


	4. Chapter 4

Thunderclouds are gathering over Seattle Grace, and Derek Shepherd is standing in the scrub room. There's no patient in the OR, but his mind's eye is able to see blonde hair translucently through a surgical cap; brown eyes without their contact lenses; the smile – Izzie's sweet smile. The one that says that she'll forgive you anything as long as you've given it a good go.

It's the smile that he'll personally miss most – he's seen it across an OR table; he's seen it when he sat crumpled in a chair so done with life that one more thing would push him over the edge.

It's not a patient he's operating on today. It's a friend.

That alone is stilling his hand.

Far above the bowels of the hospital, the thunder rolls, and Derek Shepherd breathes deeply before slamming on the water.

//~//

He wanted to spend the last few moments with her, but she insisted on being alone, so Alex is sitting outside on the bench just under the ambulance bay's overhang. Every few moments, lightning flashes, and it's like watching images in his head, like photographs –

Flash: she's standing, the white dress she bought for her first date flattening against her body in the wind. The scent of her perfume is intoxicating, but he's vowed not to get involved. He later knows this to be a mistake.

Flash: she smiles at him from the bed, the crest of her collarbone picked out in the dim light from the rosy shade on the nighttable. Her hair looks strawberry in the light and when he bows to kiss her neck, she almost tastes like strawberries, too.

Flash: her hair started falling out from the medication but she'd never let him see it, until one pale morning in the hospital. Her eyes closed in utter exhaustion, she didn't notice when he lifted the loose strands and placed them to his face, inhaling their scent; feeling their softness; watching the highlights gleam like pulled strands of amber in the sunlight. So exhausted she remained, she didn't see his tears fall and drop on the hair like jewels, either.

And when the thunder sounds, crashing angrily in the sky, he wants to rail against whoever it was that decided that healthy girls with their lives ahead of them should have to go through sicknesses that make them weak. He wants to take whoever decided that fate should have to decide everything and smash them through several walls.

He wants to kill whoever it was that foreordained he'd always be the one that had to be strong, when he's really always wanted to just be weak for awhile.

And when he's done with the tears, and the anger, and the overwhelming urge to beat the shit out of the next person who drops by, he relaxes his fists, takes a deep breath, and finds his way to the OR gallery.

He doesn't say anything, but his entire heart is sending a prayer to whoever will listen.

//~//

Addison sits in the cafeteria with a borrowed white lab coat around her shoulders because storms make her feel cold. If you didn't know she'd left months ago, it's like a flashback into the past: Addison Montgomery, white-coated surgeon, studying a case before she goes into her next surgery. How different that time seems, now. How strange it is to be sitting in this hospital when someone she thought she'd love forever is going under the knife today.

She's been fighting with herself – does she even have a right to be here? Does she have a right to hope for anything? There's so much water under the bridge. But it's not even that – it's that Izzie's moved on. She doesn't need Addison like she used to. That alone is hard, because the needing is what Addison thrives on – and thought she'd come back to.

Thunder crashes loudly above Addison's head, and the lights flicker. Uneasily, Addison lifts her coffee, but her shaking hands tell her that she's had enough caffeine for one morning. The real story is, she's keyed up to the enth degree – this surgery is not one that Izzie has a great chance of surviving, let alone being cured from.

One thing you learn as a doctor is patience. Addison gathers her patience, breathes deeply, and clacks her way towards the OR, anyway.

//~//

Meredith is the only one Izzie has allowed to see her before the surgery. And outwardly, there's no problem at all. She is always calm; always composed, and that's what makes her the perfect person to sit with Izzie on this stormy morning – the morning that could change everyone's lives, not just Izzie's.

Meredith knits. She had put down her knitting for a long time before Izzie got sick, and now every time Izzie sees her, she's knitting, non-stop. The yarn makes interesting shapes, but they never really resemble what it is that Meredith says she's making. While she knits, Meredith rarely makes eye contact with Izzie. This alone bothers Izzie more than she lets on.

There has to be one person in your life that you can count on to always tell the truth; always be honest; always provide support. Izzie had once thought that it might be Addison, but lately, it's been Meredith. But today, Meredith won't look at her and the apprehension gets to be too much for Izzie. She suddenly sits bolt upright in bed.

"Why are you always knitting? And what are you even making?"

Meredith looks up in surprise, her blue eyes locking with Izzie's brown ones. "What?"

"You sit in here and knit and knit and knit, and Mer, I just don't see anything ever coming out of those needles. No socks, no hats, no scarves, no baby booties, nothing. What the hell are you knitting?" Her voice grows louder, echoing off the room's walls and various pieces of equipment, and Meredith winces.

"Meredith, come on!"

"Nothing. I'm just knitting. Just knitting." Meredith doesn't tell Izzie that she's knitting because she can't stand to look at the woman's increasingly gaunt face, or the way she heaves forward to vomit, or the way her hands keep getting thinner as she picks restlessly at the lint on the blankets. She doesn't tell her this, but her face says it all.

"You know what," says Izzie, her voice dropping. "It's okay. You can go. They'll be taking me down in a few moments."

"Iz, it's okay. I'll stay."

"No, Mer, I'd rather you went. Please."

"Izzie – "

"Look, Meredith. I know why you're knitting without stopping; I know this is hard for you. But I can't deal with your issues today because I'm about to undergo a surgery that will potentially kill me. Okay? So can you just leave, now?"

Meredith slowly stands, stuffing her needles and knitting into the bag beside her. "Okay. If that's what you want."

And then, Izzie explodes.

"You know what I want? I want someone to stand by my side and not feel pity. I want someone to give me a shoulder to lean on, to cry on, to stop having to pretend to be brave constantly. I want someone who isn't afraid to be stronger than me, someone without a bagful of issues – someone that understands! That's what I want!"

Meredith's eyes lock with Izzie's just as Addison walks in, having hurried down the hall because she heard Izzie yelling.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Izzie suddenly shoots forward, but Meredith can't get a basin under her in time and she ends up vomiting all over the covers, her nightgown, and herself. To make it worse, she's also lost control of her bowels – the laxative that she was given to prep for surgery has had her running back and forth to the bathroom all morning.

Izzie, covered in the effluvia from her own body, suddenly covers her face with her hands and begins to cry for the first time since being diagnosed. Meredith, after a nod from Addison, turns and walks out of the room, leaving Addison and Izzie alone.

Amidst the sound of Izzie's tears, Addison begins to strip the bed and pile the stinking blankets outside the door. When she finishes, she puts a gentle hand on Izzie's shoulder.

"Come on, I'll help you to the shower."

Izzie's eyes are bright with tears, but she doesn't argue. She lets Addison help her to the bathroom and into the shower, but she's too weak to stand, and Addison has to strip her lab coat and help Izzie sit on the bath chair. Her short-sleeved blouse gets wet, but she doesn't care.

Izzie's body continues to shake as Addison helps her wash her hair and then her body. She's purely clinical and respectfully averts her eyes, but Izzie can't help remembering –

That day when they spent a snowy morning in the bathtub – Addison's ivory skin under the light; her hair turning dark, dark garnet under the steaming water. The way that Izzie slipped her hand over Addison's stomach – the way Addison kissed her, the top notes of her breath sweet and minty from the toothpaste.

Izzie shakes her head suddenly, and reaches for a towel. "I'm done."

"Okay." Addison's arms are as soft as ever, but they seem to be stronger than before. At any rate, she's able to support Izzie, helping her into her gown and back to bed.

"Thanks," Izzie mutters, her face flaming red. She could have sworn she was past embarrassment now, but apparently not. Addison smiles.

"Glad I took the detour to see if you were still here."

"Derek's running late. He came to tell me just before you came in."

The silence is awkward. The lightning flashes outside of the hospital, answered by the growl of rolling thunder. Izzie closes her eyes, unable to stop the memories.

Addison had cried the night of the biggest storm Seattle had ever seen. Addison, who always seemed so strong, had broken down like a small child, there in the bed beside Izzie. It was there that Izzie found out that the woman who was afraid of nothing was actually terrified of thunderstorms, though she never found out why.

Now, there's nothing to betray the redhead's fear but a slight tightening of her clasped hands as the thunder crashes outside. Izzie manages a small smile.

"Still don't like the thunder, huh?"

Addison's face closes. "I'm fine."

"Mm-hmm." Izzie turns her face towards the window for a moment, then turns back to Addison, whose expression has changed. Izzie sees pity, sympathy, and sadness on her ex-lover's face, visible in the careworn lines around her eyes. For the first time, Izzie sees how youthful-looking Addison seems to have aged.

"Hey. I'm not dead yet. Quit it."

"Sorry." Addison's lower lip trembles a little, and Izzie sighs.

"Addie. Please."

"When did you find out you were sick?"

"A month ago. You're mostly seeing the effects of the medication. If I wasn't on it, I wouldn't look this bad."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Izzie leans back against her pillows, sighing in annoyance. "Addison. You've just seen me vomit and befoul myself, watched me naked in the shower, and now I have to spill my heart to you, as well? Can you not let it go?"

Addison's hands clench and her head flies up, blue eyes meeting with Izzie's. "No. I can't let it go. You owed me that, Izzie. I wondered how you were long after I left – "

"But you left, anyway! You left, Addison. You ran away, like you always do, and you didn't even give me a number. How was I to know you still cared enough about me that you would want to know if I had a potentially terminal illness?"

Addison's eyes fill with tears. "Why wouldn't I want to know, Izzie? I don't hate you . . . no matter how you may feel about me. I care."

At that moment, the orderly comes in. "Isobel Stevens?"

"That's me," quips Izzie drily, holding out her arms. "Let's get this over with."

Addison watches quietly as Izzie is transferred to the gurney, then at the last moment, she clutches her hand.

"I care. And don't you forget it. You owe it to everyone to come out of this – and you owe it to yourself."

Izzie doesn't break Addison's gaze.

"I'm not planning to die today."

Addison stares back. "I'll hold you to that."


End file.
